The air was thick with dread as twilight yielded to an oppressive darkness that seemed to exhale despair onto the scarred earth below. The united group—Seraphine, Calix, Mariella, and spectral remnants of their past—stood at the precipice of a vast, ruined plain where the natural order was unraveling. Above them, the sky churned with a roiling mass of dark clouds streaked by eerie crimson light, heralding an imminent eclipse that would mark the climax of their struggle.
Seraphine's grip on the Heart of Ananta tightened as she surveyed the expanse. Every fiber of her being pulsed with the relic's gentle, steady glow—a beacon of hope amid the encroaching shadows. Her voice was soft but resolute as she murmured, "This is it. The final eclipse isn't just a sign of darkness—it's a promise that the end of Nyxthar's reign is near. But it will demand everything from us."
